Two weeks after our night in Dunedin I was on my knees and Dottie was sitting comfortably, in front of me, on a chair in my bedroom. I though, was not so comfortable.
My arms were tied behind my back with my wrists tied to my elbows (a box tie) and some more rope was tied around my arms pulling on them so there was no chance of my getting my hands free. My legs were frog tied and my back was against my closet door. To prevent me from falling Dottie tied a crotch rope on me with the end of the rope so long that she was able to pull it up and over the top of the door until it dug into my puss so tight that it hurt and, after putting knots in the end of the rope, she closed the door so the rope would not slip and it held me like that, on my knees. It was not, as I said, a comfortable position (I had never been tied like that) but despite the agony from the rope forcing itself deeper and deeper into my puss every time I moved, wriggled, squirmed or gyrated it got much worse, because firstly, my birthday gift was in my puss and both my panties and the rope made sure it wasn’t coming out. Secondly, a pair of nipple clamps, tightened so much my neighbors (hearing my screams) would have called the police if my mouth wasn’t stuffed with her panties and wrapped with tape (it resembled duct tape but wasn’t) and, to make me a bit more helpless, she tied string to the clamps and pulled on them “just because she could!”
Putting one leg over the other she sat back and watched me while she turned on vibrator and pulled on the clamps. There was no rhyme or reason to when she would use either one (vibrator or clamps) or even when she used both at the same time. The pain from the clamps was excruciating. My nipples were on fire. Tears rolled uncontrollably down my face. And my thighs, we can’t forget my thighs, were beet red with welts because of the crop she used on them!
When she was tired of whipping my thighs she would lean over and give the soles of my feet some tender loving care too. I was in agony.
Yet, regardless of how painful it was, I was so turned on that all I could think about was my next atomic explosion when she would once again take me over the edge until I finally hung like a limp noodle.
The pain continued even when she stopped to give me a “time out”. A few times she even (very gently) wiped my tears away and kissed my cheeks and nibbled my ears.
But my rest periods didn’t seem to last very long because whenever I felt myself beginning to breathe a bit easier I felt her tug on my clamps, bringing me out of any heavenly stupor I may have fallen into, and then, of course the vibrator started its dance.
There is just so much of this a body can stand (especially my body) but in my mind I didn’t want it to stop. My nipples sent their agony to my clit (as they always do) and my puss was still in charge of my body and thoughts. Yes, Dottie (Mistress D) was in charge, obviously, but my puss was the ultimate domineering entity in this play.
I wanted to scream my safety past my gag and I know Dottie would have stopped. She would have immediately gotten her panties out of my mouth and would have started untying me if, after she took the gag off, I told her no more. Enough.
But I didn’t do that because my puss was in charge and didn’t want anything to stop. How sick is that? Why do I get like that? What is it about being treated that way that makes me want more? Both sexually and mentally?
Answer is I don’t know and I don’t care. It’s like I’m transported to my own Shangri-La. I’ve read about endorphins and sub space but never believed any of it until my appetite for more stringent bondage and sexual torture grew to where it is today.
And I don’t miss the old days. You know, the vanilla days. No sprinkles, only soft ice cream. I guess that’s not a very good analogy but it’s the best I have right now.
I know it is hard to believe but Dottie kept me there, suspended in my own quivering universe for about two hours. When she cut the rope to get me down from the door she held me tight and gently lowered me on my tummy. She didn’t take the time to untie the ropes, she cut them off with a pair of scissors. Then as gently as she could, she took the tape off and pulled the sodden mass of panties and a ton of drool from my mouth.
I hardly knew what she was doing until my eyes opened and began to focus.
After wiping my face dry she moved down to my waist and took my panties off and removed the vibrator. Such a weird feeling as it slid out. Felt nice but even then I didn’t want it to end. Very complicated when I get like that. My mind racing, my body wracked with pain (from both the whipping and the struggling against the ropes) and my nipples, oh my great Aunt Juniper (yes, I actually had an Aunt Jupiter), hurt like hell when she took them off and were way too tender to touch (from past experience I knew that just wearing a bra was going to be difficult for a few days but not wearing one would be so much worse it these tender buds were allowed to freely rub against my blouse).
I stayed on the floor for quite some time (I took a nap). When I woke up Dottie was sitting in the chair, smiling, said she was glad I was still alive and told me to get dressed so we could go out to eat.
With that she got up, and left me alone.
I showered as quickly as I could and felt refreshed but walked rather gingerly (what a surprise). The worst thing/best thing though was that my nipples, still very very tender, kept sending their little electric like signals to my puss and my puss, well, my puss was still in charge and I couldn’t say no, I masturbated.
About an hour later we were at Tijuana Flats (decent Mexican food) in Brandon. A very decent meal, although the music was bit too loud, and I couldn’t stop squirming which Dottie thought was “cute”.
Once back at my house I was treated to more bondage and servitude and later that evening, for dessert, I was permitted to kiss and taste my Mistress until I had sipped all of her juices and licked her plate clean.